Take My Breath Away
by DeniseV
Summary: J.D. gets hurt trying to save a young Chinese girl. Ezra, too, gets hurt as he tries too hard for a rescue. A familiar face shows up. Inez is upset. And love conquers all, in the end.


This is a companion piece to my stories, "Pastimes", "All That Mattered" and "Time Heals". It would be best to read these stories as a refresher. It's not mandatory or nothin', just think it would put you in the right place for some of what transpires in this story. ;-) Enjoy!

* * *

"Stay down, kid," Buck Wilmington said softly, but loud enough for his partners waiting and watching in the cover of dusk and trees to hear.

"He won't," Chris Larabee noted, saying the same thing each one of them were thinking.

"He'll do what he has to in order to keep that monster from touching her again," Josiah Sanchez observed. They had all just seen the man punch and then kick the youngest member of their law enforcement group, and then savagely take what appeared to be a lash of twigs and thorny branches to a young woman. She was lucky that they hadn't removed her clothes, though if she took too many more hits with the makeshift whip she would only have shreds of cloth left on her body. Chris had sent Vin around to the other side, hoping the tracker could manage to pick off one, maybe two of the four men holding J.D. Dunne and the woman hostage. For all the worries they had about their young friend and the woman he had impulsively gone after in hopes of saving her from whatever these men had intended, Chris was equally worried about the actions that might still be taken by the other member of their team, the one who now had the healer Nathan Jackson watching his every move, on orders from the ex-gunslinger and de facto leader of the law enforcers now famous as The Magnificent Seven.

"Ah do not see why we don't simply barrel in theah. We have taken similar action innumerable times in the past. We out man them six to four."

"Can't risk them shootin' the girl or J.D. Let's wait. We'll know soon enough what Vin can do. We hear his gun go off, we rush in. Otherwise, we wait."

"What for?" Ezra Standish's green eyes bore into the lighter green of the tall blond as they both kneeled behind the cover of trees and brush as the sun set into the foothills. The golden glow accentuated the hard look on Ezra's face. He didn't offer that look often, this man who could generally be found running a poker game and enthralling the players and the crowd with stories, some real, some made up. Or he could be found entrancing adult and child alike with fantastical card tricks, or showing off the tricks of his well-trained horse. Or sometimes he could be spotted petting a little orange and white dog, sharing the scraps of his breakfast or afternoon repast with the little hound. But the look currently on his face, the man he presented on this day, at this moment, was far removed from the man he most often was … the man he most wanted to be. This look now presented the face of a man that normally only his close associates saw, or those who'd earned his ire – like these men – and rightly feared. It was true that this look was seen, in some form, whenever one of his brothers in arms was in danger. But there was something more today, something they hadn't seen in Ezra in some time, not since that day a couple of years ago, when he risked his life in order to help make the life of one girl, a foreigner who would normally not even have raised the head of most people, what it should be rather than the sad life it had become. Ezra himself had seemed low, sad for some time beyond the day he let the Chinese woman Li Pong go. And though since an injury had robbed him of his memories of a budding romance with the lovely Mexican barkeep Inez Recillos, today he seemed to easily remember the exquisite porcelain doll he sent home to San Francisco as he watched this stranger get beaten … and stoically not let out one scream, not one cry of pain.

"Ezra, you've seen how these men are," Nathan explained. "Seems likely they'll resort to worse if they know they're threatened."

"Best to just sit quiet, brother," Josiah seconded.

"Just be ready to go when you hear Vin's weapon," Buck said. Like Ezra, the ladies man was chomping at the bit, finding it harder and harder to just sit and watch as each minute passed. His best friend, his little brother, was suffering at the hands of these beasts.

As expected, J.D. was unable to stay down as the girl continued to be whipped. He dragged his obviously weak and abused body up, just to be knocked down once more and kicked hard in his stomach.

"Damn it, kid!" Buck growled.

"Buck," Chris warned. They couldn't afford being found out, for any reason, and certainly not by the slip of a raised voice. "Everybody just sit tight and listen."

A few more minutes went by, minutes that seemed tortuously longer, before they heard what they'd all been waiting for. First one echo of Vin's mare's leg, and then another followed immediately behind. Two of the four men fell, including the one who had just kicked J.D. Buck's young friend jumped up and pushed the man holding the lash up; the whip was way in the air, ready for another stroke to the poor girl's back. The rest of the seven, Vin coming from the north, the others from the west, charged in, warning shots fired. They could not risk aiming for the two remaining men without endangering J.D. or the girl.

The one who had been kicking J.D. started to rise, but bullets hitting the dirt at his feet put him right back down on the ground. The other man had escaped the young easterner's grasp, grabbed the girl and started dragging her, his revolver held to her head as he moved them backwards. As Ezra reached them, the man pulled up fast and spoke.

"Stop, or I'll shoot 'er in the head."

"Ah would let her go if Ah were you," Ezra said, plainly, coldly.

"Well, I ain't you." Ezra took another step forward. "I said stop," the man persisted as he pressed the weapon hard against her neck. Ezra heard her gasp faintly. Their eyes locked as he stopped moving forward. Though there was little likelihood they spoke the same language – Li Pong's excellent English being more of an exception in the Chinese immigrant community – the gambler hoped that his face expressed to her that she could trust him.

Now that he had stopped, Ezra could see the man's eyes flicking from him to his compatriots, who were scattered around enough that it was an effort for the miscreant, and then back to him. The man from the south looked to the girl once more before he loosened the mechanism that shot his Derringer into his hand. The sound drew the kidnapper's attention – and his gun – to Ezra. It was the action the con man had hoped for, a distraction sufficient to move the gun from the girl to him. The guns went off simultaneously, Ezra's bullet hitting the man square in the forehead; a tiny hole appeared before the blood had finally begun to ooze out. The girl rushed toward Ezra as he offered his left arm to her. She grasped him tightly around the waist, her face pressed hard to his chest. He held her tight, his gun now pointed down to the body, when he sagged suddenly. The Chinese girl tried to hold onto him as she looked up to his face to find blood gushing from high up on his forehead. She screamed – the first significant sound any of them had heard coming from her – as she eased him down to the ground. She uttered a word she had probably thought and prayed far too many times in her young life, but rarely bothered to utter for herself, yet found it effortlessly trip from her tongue as it was apparent how desperately it needed to be said at this moment.

"Help."

"It's all right. I got him," Nathan said as he took the gambler from her arms and placed him in a prone position on the ground. "Josiah," he said, sending the former preacher off to get the requisite fire going. A gunshot to the head meant the healer would need gathered those things that were readily available in his clinic but meant time and effort out on the trail.

"God damn it, Ezra," Chris said as he checked to make sure the man with the hole in his forehead was truly dead.

"Buck and J.D. got the other one tied up," Vin said as he frowned at his friend's still form. "Nathan?" he asked.

"Deep groove," the black man said, "close range," he added. "Don't know," he continued as he used rag after rag to stanch the blood. "Ezra?" he asked. The girl remained close, her hands clasped on her lap as she sat on her knees next to the unconscious man who had saved her life. "Ezra?" Nathan asked again as he lightly shook the man's red-jacketed shoulder. He could see the southerner's eyes move under closed lids. Nathan smiled faintly; it was a good sign. He looked up and saw a bruised and bloody J.D. staring down with big, brown, worried eyes, Buck helping to hold him up. "J.D., you all right?"

"Yeah. Good thing you showed up when you did," the young man said. "How's Ezra?"

"Think he'll be fine, eventually. It was a pretty hard hit, up close. Might be a while before he's makin' sense."

"Ezra? Make sense?" Buck asked. "Why that would be somethin' new, kind of a unique side-effect of a gunshot to the head." His friends smiled momentarily, nervously and hopefully, but Chris gave them little chance to contemplate what the handsome gunman had said.

"Buck, get J.D. layin' down. Give him a good look."

"Chris, I'm fine."

"J.D." It was all Chris Larabee had to say to get the easterner to let his best friend and mentor look him over.

"Vin, check the horses, see if there's anything in the saddlebags or in their clothing to explain why it was so important to risk taking a Chinese girl and a lawman hostage. I'm going to go talk to our prisoner."

Ezra moaned as he finally started to return to consciousness. He made to rise, but Nathan pinned him back to the ground easily. The Chinese girl's eyes opened wide, her eyebrows rising high on her forehead. Nathan saw the worry and hoped that her ability to say the one English word earlier meant that she might understand what he said now.

"It's fine. He'll be all right." She blinked, holding back tears, and then nodded her head.

"He … help … me," she said carefully. "He is good."

Nathan looked from her and then down to Ezra, seeing that he was blinking his eyes carefully, slowly. He looked back to the girl and said, "Yes. He is." He looked back to Ezra and said, "That's good. Now open your eyes." Ezra did as he'd been ordered, but the glassy, unfocussed look worried the healer. Ezra turned to the girl, resting his eyes on her for a long time. He blinked several times, as though trying to clear his vision. He returned his gaze to Nathan, his face full of confusion. He looked at the girl again, and then back to Nathan. He closed his eyes, but he scarcely got out his last thought before falling unconscious once more.

"Li ... "

* * *

"Did he think he was back two years ago, when Li Pong was here? Or did he think that girl was Li Pong? Or did she tell him her name … is Li or Pong, are they common names for Chinese women? Or maybe … "

"J.D., calm down. We don't know what he meant. Hell, he probably don't even know what he was sayin'. But we for sure ain't gonna know 'til he wakes up again," Buck explained, trying to get his young friend to rest, as the healer had suggested. His bruises were numerous and painful, but he'd been fortunate not to suffer cracked or broken ribs, or more severe internal injuries. Nathan had chalked it up to luck and youth. They had all agreed that the 'kid' was a lot tougher than he looked.

"I'm calm. I'm just … "

"You're worried. I understand. So am I." Buck sat back in the chair next to J.D.'s bed, the bed that the young man sat on the edge of, steadfastly refusing to lay down until they talked more about what had happened.

"Don't know why Nathan had to give him that tea."

"That horse piss ain't what's kept him out this long. It's something more," Buck said, worry infusing his voice.

"You think he got hurt bad?"

"He's hurt real bad, but, I don't know, J.D. I wonder if he's been out 'cause, you know, thinkin' about that little Chinese girl he sent home ... maybe … "

"He cared a lot about her," J.D. said warmly.

"Yeah, he did. If that girl reminded him of her, and it was the last thing he was thinkin' 'bout before he got shot … " Buck rubbed the back of his neck as he shook his head. "I don't know."

"What's Nathan say?"

"He said that sometimes it takes time to wake up from this kind of injury." Buck looked out the window, out toward the clinic where the con man remained unconscious. The name Ezra had spoken was the only thing he'd said since getting shot. He'd fallen back 'asleep', as J.D. preferred to think about it, though Nathan had enlisted half the town in forcing as much healing tea and water into the man as they could. Some was ingested, some not, the gambler subconsciously knowing to swallow rather than drown. The former slave knew that his friend's brief rally could be all that they saw of him for some while, this injury one that might likely keep him down – and out – for a worrisome long time.

"Buck," J.D. said. The healing young man's friend didn't respond as he continued to stare out the window. "Buck!"

The ladies man turned back to his protégé. "Yeah, kid."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Look, I ain't been a kid in a long time. If it didn't happen when my mama died, or on the road on my way out here, then I stopped bein' a kid the day I killed Miss Annie." Buck started to open his mouth, to correct his friend, but J.D. would not allow it. "I killed her, Buck. I didn't mean to, but I did. You don't need to protect me, so please don't lie to me." Buck averted his eyes, not able to look at J.D.'s worried expression for too long. "Buck, is Ezra … " he paused, and then finally added hesitantly, "is he not gonna make it?"

Buck realized that he'd scared his friend by not being completely clear on what worried him. He turned back to the man who had been so badly beaten simply because he had a big heart, a heart that forced him to do the right thing and try to save that poor, frightened girl.

"No, no. Ezra's gonna be fine. I'm just worried that, you know, he may not remember stuff. Like last time."

"Oh, yeah. It's been a while and he still doesn't remember about Inez."

"No, no he doesn't." The handsome gunman looked at the worried face before him. "Look, Nathan thinks he'll recover just fine. We have to trust … believe that he will."

"But you think he might be thinkin' of Li Pong while he's … sleeping, and that he likes being there, so his body is letting him stay there?"

"You know, kid? You're pretty damn smart."

"That ain't news, Buck."

Buck smiled, pushed J.D. back into his pillow and said, "Get some rest … kid."

* * *

"You're gonna go to prison. You might as well tell me why you did it," Chris said as he continued the interrogation. It was now past midnight. Vin watched as his friend asked the questions that he knew this man would not be providing answers to.

"Go to hell."

"Maybe I will one day, but today is more about you. The judge may go easier on you if you tell us … "

"Are you deaf?"

"Don't think we're gonna get anything outta him, cowboy."

"Guess not." Vin's eyebrow went up in surprise. He expected Chris to continue this questioning for hours. The tall blond nodded to the door and the two men exited to the boardwalk, the overnight temperatures a pleasant tonic to the excessive heat of the daytime hours. The night was clear, the wind nonexistent, the stars seemed close enough to reach out and touch. Ezra would be sorry that he missed it; no one in town appreciated the night sky the way Ezra Standish did. Nobody understood it better, for certain. It was likely that no one in town had seen as many overnight skies as Ezra had in his lifetime, being the committed night owl that he was.

"Judge won't do any better than you did," Vin said.

"What'd you find in his stuff?"

"Nothin' much. Had a total of six dollars 'tween 'em. Found this," he added as he handed a piece of paper to Chris.

"Train ticket stub."

"From El Paso, Texas to Silver City."

"Don't see how this helps us any," Chris said. "Get the boys together. For supper, or whatever you call eating at one in the morning; none of us have eaten since, hell, I can't even remember. We'll put all our heads together, go over everything we know, see if we can figure this out."

"Sure wish Ezra's was one of the heads we were puttin' together."

"Me, too." Chris grabbed Vin's arm before the former bounty hunter could step away. "Don't tell Ezra I said that." They shared smiles that were forced, and Vin nodded his head. Though his friend didn't say it out loud, Chris could read the 'Wish I could' in the tracker's sad eyes.

* * *

"Oh, Inez. I am sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. No one does, not even him. It is just so frustrating."

"I know." Mary Travis looked at her distraught friend, knowing that there was nothing she could say to Inez that would make any of this better. It had been nearly six months since that day when Ezra and Inez had realized their love, and then had it abruptly erased from existence. Ezra had not remembered his growing feelings for the pretty Mexican, and Inez had kept her distance, wanting the gambler to remember, not wanting to force herself on him. But her frustration over the last six months came to a head when she heard what had happened during the rescue of J.D. and the Chinese woman.

"I do not understand. It has been six months. But in one day, in one moment, he remembers … her. It is her name on his lips, said in … that way." It was not Inez Recillos' way to complain. She was strong, her life experiences had forced that character trait even if she hadn't learned it well from her mother. After Ezra had lost his memory, she had valiantly gone back to being Ezra's friend, the joking back and forth re-learned, but the give and take between the gamester and the barkeep was definitely of the brother and sister playful type rather than the man and woman in love kind.

Mary smiled sadly and patted her friend's hand. "Inez, maybe once Ezra's better, you need to think of taking a different approach to your relationship."

"A different approach?" Inez asked, her eyes watery, though she refused to allow any tears to fall.

"You know, a different direction, find a way to grab his attention. Sitting back and waiting for Ezra to remember, to notice again what he once found so tantalizing … that's not working." The fact that Ezra and the rest of the Seven had been busier than ever had hurt as well, the gambler busy out and about for his work as a lawman, and working with the children, as well as making money at the poker table; it all left very little time for being in Inez's presence. "Remember, this more reserved, less vocal Inez is not the woman Ezra fell in love with. He fell in love with the real you, the fiery, hot-blooded, independent, challenging woman. I think you need to bring that Inez Recillos back to Four Corners."

"I want to do that, but I don't think I could bear it if, I mean, maybe what we had … I had started to think it was not real. How real could it be if he does not remember? How real could it be if we have not found each other again?"

"Inez, don't give up. Remember, he needs to see the real you in order to find the real you."

Inez took a deep breath and then nodded her head. "I understand." She wiped the unshed tears from her eyes. "So, is there any news on how he is doing?"

Mary sighed this time. She wasn't completely sure Inez was on board with what needed to be done; she phrased her question as though she were gathering information for a newspaper article. Mary recognized the detachment … she'd been there before, needing to keep everything at a distance just to get through each day. But if she loved Ezra enough, Mary knew that Inez would make it happen. If she didn't, she risked any chance that she had with him, maybe forever.

"He's still not awake. Nathan hopes he'll come around soon." Inez blinked, looking sad, unsure. "Inez, please, please be patient a little while longer."

"I will try."

* * *

Josiah turned to the bed as he heard the injured man moan. Since Ezra's brief awakening just after he'd saved the Chinese girl, he'd been out, deeply out for near fifteen hours. Josiah knew that Nathan was worried. Their friend had been injured or sick far too often. This time they could chalk it up to the gambler's own reckless actions, however well-intentioned, however much it may have seemed to the man that he needed to take the action he did in order to save an innocent person's life. For some reason, god only knew why, Ezra had finally found himself a conscience. Those who knew him best knew of the existence of said conscience long ago. It seemed Ezra was the last to acknowledge its existence, save for a few citizens who still only saw in Ezra Standish a card sharp and a con man out to take every last dime of their money, and all of their neighbor's money, too. Unfortunately, it seemed the con man's run of injuries seemed to parallel the timeframe of the southerner's discovery. Though Nathan had made assurances to all who asked that the man would recover once more, the former preacher could see the strain that the healer was feeling this time. Josiah could tell that his old friend was worried. How much more could one body take? It turned out, as with J.D., that Ezra was a lot stronger than they all had assumed. If _stubborn_ had a middle name, then certainly it was Ezra P. Standish.

"Ezra," the big man called as he brushed the bangs from his friend's forehead. The healing man felt only slightly warm, about the same as he'd been since they got him back to the clinic. "Ezra," he called again. This time, after several attempts, Ezra opened his eyes. He looked straight at Josiah, and then scanned the room. Josiah was pretty sure at what point his friend recognized his surroundings. He looked back at Josiah. The preacher sucked in a breath; he could honestly say that the change in the gambler's expression – it happened within moments of the man's recognition that he was in the clinic - was a look he could not recall ever seeing on Ezra's face. There was only one word to describe that look: devastated. Josiah hadn't even pushed Ezra to look quite this tortured in the church that day he'd come in for advice, the day Ezra had decided to take the money, during the governor's rally, and leave town. He turned on his side, away from Josiah. The man whose congregation was slowly but surely building in this growing and gradually civilizing town watched as his friend cried, his body hitching as he tried to stifle the sobs. The sounds were barely audible as he kept his face crushed into his pillow, but it was impossible to hide such obvious anguish. "Ezra, son," Josiah said as he reached his hand to the gambler's shoulder. Ezra froze at the unwanted comfort.

"Don't," he said as he pulled away from the touch.

"Ezra, I just … "

"Josiah, please," the distraught southerner pleaded.

Not wanting to upset his friend any more than he already was, Josiah stood to leave.

"I'll send Nathan."

* * *

"There were four but there's only one left?" Judge Orin Travis asked. He'd planned to head back to Santa Fe today, but would now be extending his stay to offer a quick trial to the only kidnapper left alive.

"Yes."

"And he won't say anything?"

"No."

"And his face isn't familiar from any wanted posters?"

"No," Chris said, then added, "but we are weeks behind receiving any new ones."

"Why is that?" the judge asked, clearly not happy with this turn of events.

"Don't know. We went through the standard procedure, notified the proper authorities that we were behind." Chris looked to Mary. The three were having a late dinner. Chris and Mary had been seeing each other for some months now. Orin was aware of this change in the relationship between his daughter-in-law and the former gunslinger. He held off giving his opinion on the subject; much like his deliberation for bench trials, he would take his time formulating an opinion.

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" The judge had made it perfectly clear that when something happened in Four Corners that might negatively affect the quality of life of his grandson and his grandson's mother, he was to be notified immediately.

"We sent a telegraph," Mary said. "Twice. I think we assumed that there was some problem, maybe a paper or an ink shortage. I know I've experienced both with The Clarion through the years."

The judge looked from Mary, and then to Chris. He held Chris' eyes with his own. The leader of the Seven understood the unspoken as clearly as though it had been said out loud.

"So there is no shortage of paper or ink," he said gravely.

"No."

Mary's eyes grew wide with surprise, and then, in a flash, changed to worried. "You never received the telegraph?"

"No."

"And the sheriff in Santa Fe?" she asked, following up like the reporter she had become.

"If he did, I didn't hear about it," Orin said angrily.

"So what happened here was probably related. These four are wanted, and someone didn't want us to know that," Chris said as he stood from the table. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and then tossed it atop his unfinished dinner plate.

"Probably," the judge said. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sending Buck and Josiah to Eagle Bend. When we didn't hear back from you, we sent a telegraph to the sheriff at Eagle Bend and the one in Alice. Both of them replied that they hadn't received anything, either."

"I can tell you that part of that's not true. I had business in Alice a little over two weeks ago. I took a packet of the most recent wanted posters with me," Judge Travis explained.

"Then I'll send 'em to Alice."

"Chris, Eagle Bend is closer. We should send a new message, see if they did finally get those posters if we want to get copies of them sooner," Mary suggested.

Chris shook his head as he sat back down. "I don't have enough healthy men to send to both."

"Yes you do," the judge countered. "Robert Merton's in town, so am I. Mr. Jackson can go with Tanner."

"Orin, you can't send Nathan. Ezra … "

"Mr. Jackson told me that he expected Standish to recover," Orin said to Mary pointedly.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's ready to be left unattended," Mary challenged her father-in-law.

"He won't be. You're here, so is Gloria Potter, Miss Recillos, Robert's wife … I forget her name."

"But Orin … "

"Doesn't matter. And Nettie Wells and her niece. There are plenty of people here who can watch after Ezra Standish."

"But … "

"There are no buts here, Mary. We need to act quickly, and we cannot send men out there alone. I think we all can agree that something is going on here, and we need to find out what it is sooner rather than later." He watched Mary. She conceded with a sigh, knowing that she had lost this argument.

"Chris?" Judge Travis asked.

"I'll go get everyone, let 'em know what's goin' on. Send them on their way."

"Good."

Mary watched Chris leave. She worried about Ezra. Nathan had mentioned that her friend had acted peculiarly with Josiah when he'd finally regained consciousness, that he seemed depressed, that he wasn't speaking, even to Nathan. That was unusual, because though their relationship in the past had been awkward and strained, with the two southern men getting off to a very bad start, they had clearly and wonderfully gotten beyond their differences and developed a truly deep, unique relationship. There was something going on with Ezra, she knew it, but she also felt less than qualified to figure it out. Nathan would get to it, there was no doubt. She wasn't even sure it was appropriate for her to try figuring it out. And she worried about Inez. The woman from south of the border was feeling more and more frustrated, even angry at the lack of progress in her relationship with Ezra. She was in love with him, and fully admitted it with her actions that night, the night when Ezra failed so amusingly at keeping his feelings to himself. Something had changed, a considerable and delightful change for both of them that night. But now? Now Ezra was in the dark about those events, blind to them ever having happened. And Inez, her pain – every day – at watching the man she loved looking back at her with none of the same emotion; looking at her as nothing more than a friend, or even worse, as a sister. It tore at Inez's heart. It tore at Mary's, too.

God, what a mess. She looked up to find Orin staring at her worriedly.

"Are you all right? I've been trying to get your attention. You seemed miles away."

"Oh, I apologize, Orin. I'm just worried." She smiled at the man she loved so dearly. Her own father had died when she was in her late teenage years, an overwhelming blow to her heart that only seemed to mend with her marriage to Stephen, and the warm reception she received into such an amazing family.

"Don't worry, Mary." He stood up, walked over to her and gave her a fatherly hug. "We'll figure it out now that we know there is something amiss."

'_If only you understood'_, Mary Travis thought. There was far more to worry about than whatever these men who had kidnapped an innocent girl, and a lawman, had planned.

* * *

"How is he?" Nettie Wells asked.

"Quiet," Gloria Potter replied sadly.

"He eat or drink?"

"Half of his lunch, all of the slice of pie that I made for him," Gloria added proudly. "He's drinking when asked."

"Very well. I'll take it from here."

"Thank you, Nettie." Gloria leaned in closer and whispered to her old friend, "Go easy on him."

Nettie replied just as softly, despite such an action being completely against her nature, "Not sure that's the right thing with this one."

"I know. Something is troubling him." Gloria looked to the young man, pale and sad and huddled into his blanket and his pillow as though they were the only lifelines available to him. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we need to try something different." The mercantile proprietress put on her coat, turned back to the elderly rancher and said, "But still, try to be gentle with him."

"Hell, Gloria," she began in reply, followed more loudly by, "gentle is my middle name." The two women shared a smile as Gloria closed the door behind her. Nettie went straight to the chair beside the bed, moved it over to the side of the bed that Ezra lay facing, and sat in it.

"Now fancy man, I know somethin's botherin' ya, so get yer head out from those pillows and talk."

Ezra opened one eye, sighed, and then carefully rolled over to face the other way. Nettie picked up her chair and sat in front of the gambler once more.

"Yer not thinkin' straight if you think pullin' somethin' like that's gonna stop me. Now talk."

Ezra opened both eyes and answered the woman. Sort of.

"Missus Wells … "

"Nettie. How many times do I have to tell you? And don't give me that bein' courteous to your elders malarkey."

Rather than abide by her wish, Ezra just continued what he was planning to say. "Ah did the one thing Ah had hoped to avoid. Ah am findin' it rather difficult to live with mahself, let alone forgive what Ah've done."

That was far easier than Nettie expected. She didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but he was talking. She didn't like the tone, she didn't like the cryptic nature of the reply, she didn't like that he sounded as though he'd given up on himself, and on life.

"What exactly is this awful thing that you think you've done?"

Ezra looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. She had to have heard. But then again, she did spend more time out of town than in. Maybe she hadn't been apprised of all that had transpired.

"In mah, at best, clumsy efforts to save that girl from continued brutality at the hands of those … monsters, Ah did the unthinkable." He paused, a tremble evident in his frame, followed by a hitching sob that he quickly recovered from as he continued, "Ah am the reason that poor Chinese woman is dead."

'_Good heavens, he thinks he killed the girl'_, Nettie thought to herself. Out loud, she quickly reassured her charge. "Lands sakes, boy. You didn't kill anybody who didn't deserve to die that day." Ezra's eyes grew wide in horror. "Calm down, the girl is fine. She's helpin' out over at Gloria's. Only the men who hurt J.D. and beat that young girl died that day."

"Are … Are y … you sure? Ah swear Ah … Ah remembered, Ah thought … "

"Son, that blow to the head must've messed with you more than Nathan thought. You clammed up so tight t'weren't no one could get through to ya." Ezra nodded his head as relief flowed through him. Tears came to his eyes, and another sob escaped. Nettie watched, seeing a man who didn't want to relinquish control, but he was fighting a losing battle with his body, with his heart, both of which were steadily overruling what his head told him he should do. She stood and then sat on the edge of the bed. "Come on," she said, warmly encouraging him into her arms. "You need a good cry, son." Ezra wasted no time leaning into the welcoming arms. He rested his head high up on her chest. Nettie wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close, and then easing into a simple rocking motion. Ezra cried, holding tight, but Nettie knew the man well enough to know that it wouldn't last as long as he needed it to. He would lick his wounds privately, at a later time. She knew, though, that what had just happened here would do wonders for his healing. She'd seen it happen before with men bigger and seemingly stronger than this one. Why the hell was it so hard for men to do what sometimes, in the end, is the best thing for them?

Ezra pulled away, sniffed at his runny nose, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Thank you … Nettie," he said. She smiled at the use of her given name by the proper southern gentleman. "Apparently, Ah needed that," he said, followed by an embarrassed chuckle.

"Apparently," she said as she slapped his hand affectionately. She stood, walked over to the kettle on the stove and said, "Time for some tea."

"Good lord," he said loudly, planning to continue a diatribe on everyone trying to poison him, but all that came out was a groan, and then he was pressing his fingers up against the bandaged wound.

"Headache?" Nettie asked. The con man nodded. "You got knocked real hard in the head. All this crying has just made it worse. The tea will help."

"Ah know it will." Ezra closed his eyes and leaned heavily into his pillow. "J.D.?" he asked.

"Recoverin' fine. Buck's keepin' an eye on him."

"That is good." Ezra took a long breath. "So the girl … she's all right?"

"Seems so. Gloria has her working in the back. Her English is pretty poor. Believe it or not, Vin's helping her with learnin' some more words."

"Good lord!" he exclaimed, followed by another groan, followed by a whispered, "Ah must remember not to do that."

"Good idea. Anyway, it ain't as bad as you think. You helped that boy a goodly amount. Don't know if I ever thanked you for that."

"You shouldn't. Ah acted … terribly when Vin first came to me."

"He told me." Ezra's face quickly turned red with shame. "But ya did right by him in the end. He's very proud of what he's learned, how far he's come."

"He should be. Vin is an excellent student."

"Well, he seems to have a knack for teachin'. He's got her communicatin' better already."

Ezra rubbed his forehead. "Ah will trust that you are correct and that Vin isn't … " The gambler stopped talking and breathed in and out carefully.

"Feelin' sick?"

"Somewhat." It had been over forty-eight hours since Ezra had been shot. It was clear that being more awake wasn't doing the card sharp any favors, though it made Nathan happier and more willing to leave him in the care of others. When Nathan was happy, they all breathed a little easier. But the healer had said that Ezra might have exactly the symptoms he was currently struggling with.

Nettie brought the mug of tea to Ezra's bedside. "Stop talking, drink this." She set the mug of tea on the side table and then helped the injured man to sit up.

"Yes, Madame," Ezra said, trying to infuse even a little bit of humor into a situation where his embarrassment of overreacting still hung in the air.

"Stop that. I'm just Nettie." Ezra took a sip of the 'witch's brew', screwed up his face at the taste, and then shook his head.

"That is most assuredly not the case. You are far more than 'just' anything." Ezra groaned once more and closed his eyes quickly. The mug started to tip in his hand, concern for it immediately usurped by the shards of glass stabbing into his head. Nettie caught the cup in time; it was mostly empty, anyway.

"All right, that's enough for now young man. Take this last swallow." Ezra did as he was told. "Let's getcha layin' down again."

As Nettie helped Ezra back down onto the bed, Ezra uttered a quiet, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, son. Now just get some sleep. Best thing for ya." Ezra was lightly snoring before she finished speaking.

* * *

"Just received a telegraph from Buck." In the end, Chris had matched Buck with Nathan in the hopes that their destination of Eagle Bend would get the healer back to town sooner. "All four of 'em are in the batch of posters from three weeks ago. Wanted for robbery … and kidnapping of a Chinese girl," Chris said as he handed the message to the judge.

Mary looked over her father-in-law's shoulder and said, "That sounds familiar. I don't know why I didn't think of that before," she added, looking guilty. "I'll be back," she said as she left the two men alone.

"So," the judge started, "I trust that your intentions toward my daughter-in-law are honorable," he said, not asking the question, per se, but demanding an answer nonetheless.

"You know they are, Orin. I suspect Mary's already made that clear, either to you or Evie."

"She has. You know, you weren't exactly the type of man I would have chosen for her."

"I don't doubt that," Chris said shaking his head and offering a grin of understanding.

"You and Stephen, my son," Orin said, his voice catching just a little as he spoke of his murdered only child, "you and he would not have been friends, not those three years ago when you first showed up." Chris said nothing, but he nodded, acknowledging … understanding the point Orin was trying to make. "You are a different man now than you were then, Chris. The Chris Larabee I know now? I am happy to say that you and Stephen would have been a formidable force for good, the way you and your men have turned this town around. Stephen would have been your biggest ally, with his newspaper."

"Well, his widow has become pretty formidable herself with that newspaper," Chris reminded the judge.

Judge Travis laughed. "She has, I'm very proud of her. She was rough on you, at the beginning."

"She was right … most of the time."

"Smart and compassionate; it's a fine mix for a newspaper publisher."

"It's a good mix for a woman," Chris countered.

"That it is, Chris."

"You're lucky enough to know that firsthand."

"Indeed I am." Orin looked the former gunslinger straight in the eye. "When's the wedding?"

"I don't know. I know this: she's not ready. And frankly, neither am I. We both have memories of an ideal that we need to be sure we have in each other."

"That sounds reasonable."

"We know that we both want to try."

"Good." The judge stood, stretched his back, and started to walk out the door.

"That's it?" Chris asked.

"That's it."

"That was easier than I thought it would be," Chris admitted.

Orin Travis turned back, smiled, and then said, "Just don't hurt her. You won't think the same of the cross-examination you'll suffer if you do."

Chris nodded, accepting the less-than-veiled threat; he had no doubt about the conviction of the old man following through on it if he had to.

* * *

Ezra panted as he leaned over the bed and spit out the last of the bile that had made this bout of sickness as miserable as he could ever remember experiencing. His eyes were tearing, his head was pounding. He knew someone was there, holding him up, rubbing his back. He couldn't really hear anything over his own panting breaths; his sole focus was surviving the horrendous throbbing in his head caused by each choking gasp. He was eased back onto the bed, a wet cloth was used to clean him up, and then another one followed that wiped away the sweat and the tears. He kept his eyes closed, embarrassed to see the face of the person who had just witnessed such weakness in him. He felt a cup touching his lips. He opened his mouth and thankfully accepted a sip of cool water. He heard 'No. Spit.', a feminine voice, and he followed the order. More cool water was offered, which he drank completely. Then hot tea that was flavored so as not to bring on more vomiting; Nathan's regularly-flavored swill would never have stayed down. He was exhausted, and it mattered not what sleep aid of Nathan's was in the concoction, he had no reserves to help him stay awake, or to thank the person currently nursing him. He fell asleep as Inez swiped the sweat from her own forehead. It had been quite a workout these last few minutes, which had been preceded by nearly four hours of just watching the man she loved sleep fitfully. She sat down and returned to her thoughts from before Ezra had woken up – dizzy and sick – thoughts of how things would ever get back to anything resembling the sweet climax they had reached six months prior.

* * *

"Heard from Vin," Chris said. "The telegraph operator in Alice admitted that he'd been paid to keep any telegraphs from the person the message was intended for if the topic was wanted posters or anything comin' in lookin' for information 'bout anyone wanted in any nearby towns. Guess who he took 'em to?"

"Who?" Judge Travis and J.D. asked at the same time.

"A guy named Horace," Chris said.

"Really? Well, that isn't very helpful," the judge said sarcastically.

"Hold on. Vin remembered someone from a few years ago with that name, so he asked the telegraph operator to describe the man he'd been delivering the notes to. Described former territorial governor Clayton Hopewell's right hand man, exactly."

"Now what the hell does he have planned?" Orin asked. Hopewell had been forced from office after one-too-many accusations of criminal activity the likes of which the leaders of Four Corners were all too familiar. Travis had on occasion been witness to, and an occasional recipient of, heavy-handed actions from both Hopewell and his obese protector.

Mary Travis re-entered the saloon. "I think I may know," the beautiful newspaper woman said. Chris stood, pulled a chair out and helped her to sit at the table they all shared.

"What did you find?"

"A wealthy Chinese immigrant," she started, smiled sweetly and interjected, "I guess you really can overcome your modest beginnings … he started as a dock worker on the San Francisco wharfs, had reported his daughter kidnapped. He'd gotten a ransom note and was prepared to pay the fifty thousand dollars … "

"Wow! Fifty thousand?" J.D. exclaimed.

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "He sent one of his people to deliver the money, but with orders that his daughter must be exchanged at that time, at the exchange of the money. When his man got to the agreed-upon location, they told him the girl had escaped. I sent an urgent telegraph to the father. He said his men heard that she was seen in Alice. Apparently, he wasn't getting much assistance from the law so he hired private investigators to track her. He said his daughter is very smart and has remained a step ahead of both the men trying to extort money from him, and the men he hired to find her."

"She probably can't tell a good person from a bad person anymore," J.D. said.

"She knows how to recognize some good people now," Chris retorted. To Mary, he asked, "You told him we had her safe?"

"Yes. I feel terrible that I didn't remember this before."

"There are a lot of Chinese immigrants around these days, as they keep adding to the railroad. It was easy to think she was just another daughter or wife of a worker," Orin defended. "He must have been grateful to hear that his daughter had been found," he added.

"I think she may need protection, J.D.," Chris suggested.

"I'm on it." He limped out the door to arrange for the girl's added security.

"She was in Alice; Hopewell's man was in Alice. That ain't a coincidence," Chris said.

"So Hopewell knew that she was headed this way and he used his contacts to try to prevent all of you from finding out that these men were wanted," Orin noted. "Once he knew she was heading this way, he knew he had formidable opposition here, ordered the girl grabbed."

"And to hurt anyone who got in the way," Mary said sadly as she looked toward the exit where J.D. had just departed. His bruises appeared worse than they did when he'd first arrived back in town. She knew that was an indication that he was healing, but it still hurt to see. "He didn't leave any friends behind the last time he visited Four Corners," Mary added. "He had to hire people not from around here."

"He must have had someone going through the mail deliveries. The only way the sheriff in Eagle Bend got the posters was because he had a deputy visiting his grandmother outside Santa Fe," Chris added as he handed Vin's second telegraph to the judge.

"Have Tanner and Sanchez check around some more, see if they can find who was stealing the mail. That's an offense that could yield some serious prison time," the judge noted. "Or encourage the one accused of coming clean. Between the one or two in Alice, this fella in Eagle Bend, and the one we have in jail, we might be able to get someone to testify against Hopewell."

"If anyone has earned some jail time, it's Clayton Hopewell," Mary said.

Orin hugged his daughter-in-law. The idea that this man might have succeeded in killing this woman who meant so much to him gave the judge extra incentive to catch the corrupt politician. Remembering the reason why this woman whom he loved as his own daughter was still with them, Orin asked, "How is Standish?"

"He's aware, awake more, but still in a lot of pain, and he seems to be having trouble when he wakes. He says that he's waking to a spinning room," Mary reported sadly.

"Nathan and Buck will be back tomorrow," Chris said.

"We'll need to put a plan together, something that will bring Hopewell out into the open," Orin said. "Luckily, if we keep taking down the men he hires, he will be forced to eventually do something himself; it would be nice to catch him in the act."

"Then let's get planning," Mary said as she preceded the two remaining men out the door.

Orin huffed. To Chris, he asked, "You sure that's what you want?" Chris just smiled, shook his head, and followed the beautiful woman and her father-in-law out the door.

* * *

"Come on, now. Wake up."

"Ah am awake," Ezra replied grumpily.

"Then open your eyes," Nathan demanded, kindly.

"No."

"Ezra, I need to check your pupils, see if they're all right."

"Mah students are fine, though Ah doubt they can any longer be called 'mah' students now that our dusty burg has its own teacher and schoolhouse."

"Ezra!"

"Yes, Mistah Jackson?" he queried, stubbornly keeping his eyes shut.

"Open your eyes or I'll have Josiah come in here and hold 'em open for me."

"You would not."

"I will.

"Fine. Ah will do as you request, but Ah am warnin' you that something most disagreeable is likely to happen if you force me to do this."

"I know. I heard you been givin' Inez a helluva a time. I got a bucket ready for ya."

"Lovely."

"Come on. Open 'em up."

Ezra did as he was told. The room still spun, but less dizzyingly than it had of late. The injured man was grateful for that. He assumed that the big, dark blurry presence before him was Nathan, he'd even bet on it. He wished that he could see more clearly, but that would entail keeping his eyes open longer than he felt capable of at the moment. Suddenly, a light was placed up close to his face. The lightning strike of pain that hit his eyes and traveled to his brain quickly made a turn south and wreaked all kinds of havoc. "Nathan," he eked out in warning just before he threw up. Each spasm of gagging sent off an explosion of pain in his head. He grabbed for his forehead, hoping the action would catch the gray matter that must certainly just be waiting to spew out of every orifice, once he'd finished throwing his guts up. Surprisingly, once he finally did stop vomiting, he found that his brain was, miraculously, still intact.

And he could finally hear Nathan again.

"Sorry about that, Ezra. I needed to check."

Once Ezra had caught his breath, rinsed out his mouth and taken a few tentative sips of a pleasingly cool mint-flavored water, he took his first good breath after long moments of panting, and asked, "Your findings?"

"Pupils look all right. Thinkin' maybe that spot where you got hit just caused you more trouble than normal. Wish there was somethin' more I could do for ya."

"Ah b'lieve it is gettin' bettah. Ah did not feel as ill openin' mah eyes this time. It was not until you brought the light over that, well, you know the rest." Ezra closed his eyes and seemed to be heading back to sleep.

"I am sorry about that. But I'm glad to hear that it seems like the worst of this might be behind you."

"Hm," Ezra said. "Ah truly hope so."

"Just rest a bit. Inez is bringing you breakfast."

"V'ry well," the gambler said as he fell back asleep.

"You gotta stop this," Nathan said as he looked at his dozing patient. He knew the southerner wouldn't want to be seen by the ladies without looking his best, at least the best that he could concerning the circumstances. The saving grace in that regard was that the man always kept himself looking good. His hair was more out of place than normal, but the ladies had done a good job of cleaning him up after each bout of sickness. He truly did look like he was just sleeping comfortably now.

A faint tap at the door announced the pretty Mexican woman's arrival with a tray. She set it on the table and then started to leave.

"Inez, could you stay, get him to eat? I need to go check on J.D., and then go re-wrap Mattie Grant's knee, and then stop in to make sure Gloria Potter's burn is healing properly."

"Oh," she said, hesitating only briefly before agreeing, "Of course."

"Thank you," the healer said. He leaned over his patient and called, "Ezra, wake up." It was easier getting the man awake this time. "Inez is here with your breakfast." As Nathan helped him into a proper position for eating, Ezra looked to his right to see Inez standing beside the dresser.

"Please, mah dear, come over and visit with me. Ah b'lieve Ah actually have an appetite." He yawned widely, covering his mouth with his hand. "Mah apologies."

"You still need lots of rest, so when you're done eating, I want you to have some tea. Inez, you remember how to make it?" the healer asked.

"Of course I do," she replied, her demeanor reserved, her eyes avoiding both men.

"All right then. I should be back within the hour."

"Thank you, Nathan," Ezra said with evident feeling. Nathan smiled, reached for his medical satchel, and left the clinic.

Inez brought the tray over, set it on Ezra's lap, and then sat down on the chair next to the bed. She said not a word. Ezra was hungry, so he started in on the scrambled eggs and toast. It was delicious, a simple meal likely orchestrated by Nathan, but perfectly in tune to what Ezra's head and stomach could tolerate. A cup of coffee and a cup of milk were on the tray; apparently it was up to the southerner to determine which his constitution could handle. He opted for the coffee. He put in a little milk and a little sugar, a treat he didn't often have when on the trail with his six peacekeeping brothers. He savored the flavor; Inez made the best coffee. He looked up from his meal to find the woman in question staring at him. He frowned. She looked … angry. Yes, that was the best way to express what he saw. Anger.

"Is there something wrong, Inez?"

An irritable huff was followed by a far too fast and short reply. "No." It clearly meant just the opposite.

"Forgive me, but Ah do not believe that is true. Something has upset you."

"I am fine, senor."

"I beg to differ," he challenged.

"Do what you will, senor."

"Inez, what is this 'senor' all about. Ah have not been _senor _to you in a very long time." Ezra didn't understand; there was heat, even animosity coming from the beautiful Mexican woman. Had _he_ done something to upset her?

"You are a southern gentleman, no?" she said, almost mocking, with extra emphasis – negative emphasis – on the word 'gentleman'. "I was raised well, too, senor."

"Have Ah offended you?" Ezra didn't know what to make of the exchange. And he knew he wasn't up to continuing it as his head seemed to contain a drum that beat harder and louder with every word he spoke, and even louder as the stress of the conversation built.

"You really do not know?" she asked. She seemed to pull back from the intense anger, but there was no hiding the bitterness in the question.

Despite his concerted efforts, he just truly could not think. He put his hand to the injury on his head. If he could just force the pain to the side, for just a moment, maybe he could remember what he had done, because he had obviously done something to upset his friend. He wanted to fix it, whatever it was.

"Ah … Ah do not. But dear lady, please know that Ah will do anything necessary to fix this."

"Ha!"

Ezra flinched at the response, at the shocking exclamation, which made his head hurt more.

"Inez," he started, but the barkeep interrupted.

"I understand that you called for Li Pong."

"Wh … What?" he asked, completely confused by the conversation.

"Li Pong. Of course you remember Li Pong." Nathan re-entered the room and heard the exchange.

"Inez! That's enough," he ordered.

"Yes, I believe it is," she said. She took the tray and stormed out of the room.

Nathan turned to Ezra, who was now rubbing his head – hard – with both hands. He could hear that Ezra's breathing was accelerated.

"Ezra, Iet me get some tea going." The healer noticed that Inez hadn't gotten to that.

"I don't understand," Ezra moaned.

"I know. Just try to relax," Nathan said soothingly.

"Why," Ezra began, but the pain was too much. "Good … lord," he eked out.

"Come on now," Nathan urged with concern. He pulled his friend forward, removed one of the pillows, and then rested Ezra's head carefully down on the remaining ones. He sat on the bed and said, "Take it easy. Slow down your breathing, you ain't gettin' enough air and that's gonna make your head hurt more." Ezra followed the directions as Nathan continued his encouraging words.

Finally, the gambler looked into the face of the worried black man and asked weakly, "Wh … Why … " he tried, but he hissed and stopped speaking as the talking and the worrying and his injury all combined to send unbelievably sharp pain into his skull.

"Quiet down. We'll talk about it later." Nathan stood and was gone mere moments, returning with the tea. "Drink this." Again, Ezra complied. Nathan made sure his friend was resting comfortably before he took the cup away.

"Why … upset … Li … Pong?" Ezra said slowly, hesitantly. He seemed to think he had said all of the other words that he'd actually not uttered. Nathan understood what he was saying, what he was asking. He shook his head as Ezra drifted off to sleep.

"Ah, hell," the healer said angrily as he stared at the door, wondering if this chapter of the saga would ever come to a good resolution for both his southern friend and his Mexican one. The thing he knew for sure, as he rubbed his friend's shoulder soothingly, was that Ezra wasn't up to another encounter like this any time soon.

* * *

"I saw the paper," Orin said.

"I hope it works," Mary replied as the pair of in-laws sat outside The Clarion newspaper. "Julian Hawkes is putting it in The Chronicle and Peter Allen in the Post in Eagle Bend."

"It'll draw 'im out," Chris said as he leaned against a post up on the boardwalk.

"Why do you think we haven't seen these investigators Mr. Zhang hired?" Mary asked.

"We don't really know that we haven't. Could be any of these people passing through," Chris suggested.

"Hopewell's lost the four he had doing his dirty work. And we know he's a persistent son-of-a-bitch. Excuse me, Mary. He's put a lot of effort into finding this girl. And he can't count on that tub of lard hiding out in Alice. He'll see it through."

"I hope you're right, Orin," the newspaperwoman replied.

* * *

"You want something done right, you've got to do it yourself," Clayton Hopewell said as he made his way to Four Corners. For a man who'd gotten used to having the better things in life at his feet – his own carriage and footman, his own car on a train – to be relegated to riding a horse placed him back down with the people he had shown such disdain for while he served as governor of the territory. Relying on others had been a decidedly unsuccessful tactic as he tried to take out his enemies while in office, those supporters of statehood. Several other scandals had forced him to resign from office, or face prosecution. And then he'd sent someone to get the cash from Zhang for the return of his daughter, and in the end, the man he'd hired to watch the girl let her slip away. And the man he'd sent for the money hadn't gotten it, the father being unwilling to give up his cash without the prize of his daughter in hand.

Hopewell continued riding in the hot sun. He'd taken a train and a stagecoach just so far; he couldn't risk being recognized by any of the locals, which is why his buttocks were now being severely bruised by a rented saddle on a rented horse. If he had to pinpoint the beginning of his downfall, it had to have been that unfinished business in Four Corners. And now here he was, heading there once more. That damned newspaper woman had written the article about Zhang's daughter being found and safe. Well, that wouldn't last if Hopewell had anything to say about it. And while he was in town, he'd take care of a loose end from before. No, it wasn't Mary Travis he had in his sights; the territory was now inevitably bound for statehood. That he no longer held the title of governor made her death inconsequential, though he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't feel some satisfaction in her untimely demise. No, it was the one who had prevented that assassination, the gambler, Ezra Standish, whose head he wanted on a platter. If things had gone differently back then … Well, they hadn't, and that gambler who was among the seven who protected Four Corners under the auspices of the old territorial judge … Hopewell would make sure he got his money, or rather, the girl and then the money. But he would also get Standish, the proverbial icing on his cake.

* * *

"Hold on, Vin."

"I'm headin' up ta see Ez."

"I know. Want ya to know somethin' before you do."

"Some'in' wrong, Nate?"

"Afraid so."

"He take a bad turn?" Vin asked worriedly, his big blue eyes full of fear, fear of losing someone who had grown important to him. The former bounty hunter had stubbornly refused to make friendships during his life, at first because the pain of losing those he cared for was just not something he wanted to subject himself to. If the pain could be avoided, then that's what should be done; there was enough pain he had no control over to pile it on willingly. And then, the bounty on his head gave him real and good reasons to keep people at a distance. But what the Texan had learned these last three years was that getting close to these six men had rewards that were worth the risk of possibly losing them. His life was filled, every day, with challenge, fun, excitement, camaraderie, brotherhood. Love. It was so worth the risk, but his heart pounded fast at what Nathan might now have to say.

"No. But Inez … well, it looks like something set her off. I returned to the clinic to find her layin' into him. He didn't understand what was going on, and he ain't nowhere near healed enough to handle that sort of stress. Their 'argument' I guess you'd call it brought on a terrible headache and dizziness. Goin' on now near six hours of terrible pain. And he's not sleepin' because he's worried about Inez."

"I'm headin' up," Vin said. He had challenged early on whether it made sense to enlist the Mexican barkeep's help, considering their history. It didn't make him feel good that he'd been right.

"Mary's with him now."

"Don't matter. I'm headin' up."

"Where's Josiah?" the healer asked.

"Gettin' a beer. See ya, Nathan."

"I'll see you later, Vin." Nathan shook his head sadly as he looked from the tracker, then down to his own boots, and then slowly started walking to the saloon.

* * *

"Howdy, Mary," he greeted in a hushed tone.

"Hello, Vin."

"How's he doin'?"

"I think he's been better," she replied sadly. Vin could see that the gambler was holding his head, his face shiny with sweat. A grunt was followed by a frustrated kick from his leg under the blanket.

"Nate told me 'nez was here."

"Oh, Vin. This is just so … "

"Wrong."

"Yes."

"Well, it's my turn to keep an eye on 'im."

Mary stood, walked over to collect her things, and turned to leave. As she approached Vin again, she stopped and said, "Do you think … " She stopped. It wasn't right, they shouldn't interfere. Fate was fickle, there was no doubt, but Mary had faith, still, that Ezra would find Inez again, though it was true that her faith had been sorely tested these last six months.

"What is it, Mary?"

"Maybe if you talked to him?" she asked, her eyes pleading that he understand how important it was.

"Ah, I don't know, Mary."

"I feel so certain that all he needs is a … nudge." She offered a sad smile, though, right after she said it. "I've been telling myself to stay out of it, but I admit that I gave Inez a nudge myself. I hate to think that what I said to her lead to what happened."

"I doubt it. Things've been buildin' with Inez for a long time. Can't much blame 'er."

"No."

"I'll see what I can do," Vin said with an encouraging smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Where do ya figure he'll go first?" Buck asked.

"Figure he'll head straight to Mary," Chris said, his concern for her safety palpable in each word he spoke.

"It will prove that the man has gone crazy if he actually shows up here," Orin Travis said. "Who's with my daughter-in-law now?"

"Josiah's with her, with Robert Merton. We'll have two people with her at every moment until this is over with, sir," Buck assured the judge.

"Who's watching the jail?"

"Nobody. Door's locked. Hopewell's man is locked up in the basement of Maude's old hotel. He can't get out, and nobody can hear him yelling from there." Chris frowned as he thought back to that time when Maude Standish's competition with her son had nearly destroyed the business that Ezra had purchased, his dream that his mother, for all practical purposes, stole right out from under him. The business was failing precipitously at the time, with each day that went by after Maude's arrival, due in whole to her distracting presence and her underhanded interference in her own son's desire to run a drinking establishment and gambling _emporium_. But his friends hadn't helped matters, either. It was a wonder some days that Ezra Standish still chose to call Four Corners home. They were all better for his presence, but sometimes Chris wondered if Ezra felt the same.

"All right. Let's all stay alert," Orin said as he checked that his gun was fully loaded. He was grateful for coincidence, as that is what put Billy in Santa Fe at the moment, spending a few weeks with his grandmother.

* * *

"Missus Potter, dear lady, you must have bettah things to do than watch me sleep." The woman was raising two children on her own, and running a very busy mercantile; Ezra felt great guilt every time he woke to find her sitting with him. The last person who had spent time babysitting him had been Vin. They'd had a good visit, a good talk, but he still did not know what had happened with Inez. The tracker had been vague, even borderline evasive in answering the gambler's questions. Vin had said that it wasn't his place to discuss it, that the gambler and Inez would 'figger it out'. He didn't understand what that meant, and the constant throbbing in his head told him that it was a bad idea to trying 'figgerin'' it out just then.

"Nonsense, Mr. Standish. You know that I would do anything for you. You have been a blessing in my life and the lives of my children. Besides, you know there are several people in our little village who help me out now with the store. I guess we can't call it a village anymore," she contemplated as she handed Ezra a cup of water. The gambler, having just woken up and feeling overwhelmingly parched, drank the contents of the entire mug before replying.

"Ah suppose not. But a burgeoning metropolis it is not yet, either." He yawned and rested his head back against his pillow.

"Are you feeling better?" Gloria asked. She didn't think he looked all that well.

"Bettah? Yes, but Mistah Jackson tells me Ah need some time for a full recovery." He yawned again, placing his hand over his mouth. "Good lord, Ah … fear Ah may … fall asleep … before … "

Gloria got up from her seat and leaned over the recovering lawman. She gently placed her hand on his forehead. "Hm, slight fever," she whispered. She replaced his blanket up close to his neck, felt his cheek and then his forehead again. She ran her hand through his hair, an action that seemed to calm the man on those occasions when she'd more-than-willingly shared the responsibility to see him through injury or sickness in the past. "You are a dear man, Ezra Standish," she added in a whisper, and then took her place in the chair alongside the con man's bed. She had been updated on the run-in he'd shared with Inez. Poor thing. Poor Inez, too.

It was late afternoon and very near time for someone, specifically Buck Wilmington, to replace her. She shook her head, acknowledging with a wry, affectionate smile what the likely reason was for his tardiness.

* * *

"You're not going to get far," Buck said as Clayton Hopewell tightened the rope around the ladies man's wrists.

"You would do well to shut up. You aren't what I'm here for, but you could get in my way."

"Let the girl go," Buck said, not meaning the girl Hopewell had arranged to have kidnapped, then lost, and now sought once more. No, Buck meant Grace, his afternoon dalliance who sat quietly behind the lean gunman. Hopewell had watched the town and determined that he needed to reduce the population of lawmen in the town before he could accomplish his two goals for his visit to this dustbowl. He'd seen what Buck and the girl were up to, and surprised them … in a fortunately timely manner, as they were both getting dressed. Hopewell had, at gunpoint – aimed straight at Grace's heart – forced her to tie Buck's arms behind his back in the only chair in the room.

Hopewell finished tightening the knot, forced Grace back onto the bed, and tied her arms to the bedposts. Buck growled at the treatment of the lovely lady, but said nothing louder due to Hopewell's threats of more severe physical violence. The last thing the clearly disturbed former politician did was carefully muffle first Grace and then Buck, with a cloth stuffed in each of their mouths, and then a bandana tied pulled tight across the lower part of their faces. Then he punched Buck in the back of the head with a hard hit from his elbow … and then left the room.

Hopewell had been observing the town and the comings and goings of the men that Judge Orin Travis had hired to protect it. Most of his dealings during his previous visit to the town had been with Chris Larabee. He'd spotted all of the others except for the gambler who had taken the bullet meant for Mary Travis, helping to put a stop to his plans to foil any progress towards statehood. He had observed, fairly quickly, that practically half of the town was making its way to and from the Negro's clinic, including all six of the other peacekeepers. An overheard conversation regarding the schedule for 'Ez' gave Hopewell the last piece of the puzzle on the whereabouts of the seventh member of 'The Magnificent Seven'.

The former governor had already ascertained the whereabouts of Zhang Lei; he would grab her after he finished his other business.

* * *

As the door opened, Gloria Potter found that J.D. Dunne was the visitor. She put her finger to her lips to keep the healing young man from waking the mosre seriously injured recuperating one, and joined him outside on the deck of the clinic.

"Is he all right?" J.D. asked worriedly.

"Yes. But he needs his sleep."

"Oh. Good. I thought I'd find Buck here."

"He's late," she said as she looked toward her store.

"I have patrol in fifteen minutes."

"No you do not," Gloria chastised. There was no way he was going to be allowed on a horse just yet, she would make sure of that.

"Oh, no. Not on Milagro. Just a walk around town. Anyway, that gives me plenty of time to go get him. Sorry about this, Gloria," he said as he bounded, or as near bounded as his injuries currently allowed, down the steps.

"That's fine, J.D. And thank you," she called softly, in deference to Ezra's current state of repose. Clayton Hopewell listened in the darkened alley doorway. As soon as he young man was out of sight and the door shut by the woman now minding his prey, Hopewell quickly made his way up the staircase.

It was the _familiar_ creek on the staircase, the one everyone who was knowledgeable about the walk to get to the clinic entrance avoided when they knew someone was up here under Nathan's care, that had the gambler awake in a flash. He turned to see Gloria at the stove, and then looked out the windows. _'She shouldn't still be here. She should be at home, making supper for her family.'_

'_Where was Buck?"_

"Missus Potter!" he called, tension in his voice but spoken quietly so as not to draw the attention of whomever was making their way up the stairs. The businesswoman turned and saw Ezra mouth 'Quietly' and then 'Come here', waving his hand to indicate the same directive. He found his guns, hanging on the bedpost beside his head, the usual location for them when he was under Nathan's care. They'd had a serious heart-to-heart about the con man's arsenal. Nathan had thought he'd won the argument, at least until Chris Larabee overruled him.

Gloria rushed to his side. "Mr. Standish," she said, barely a breath from her mouth was used to say his name.

"Shh," Ezra said. He whispered, "Someone's comin' who should not be." He checked that his gun was fully loaded. "Sit there, on the floor." The bed – and Ezra – would provide some semblance of protection to the lady from whoever would be stepping through that threshold momentarily.

The door opened, and Clayton Hopewell walked in.

"Well, this is quite a surprise," Ezra said casually.

"I was sure you would be apprised of my visit," the former governor said. Each man held a gun, pointing at the heart of the other.

"Ah would assume that mah compatriots did not wish to burden me with details of the goings-on in an effort to speed mah recovery."

"You, on the floor, you can come out from behind there," Hopewell said.

"Stay where you are, Gloria." Ezra's arm trembled slightly, the effort to keep his aim proving how very weak he remained from his ordeal; he hoped neither the disgraced politician nor Gloria had noticed.

"I won't hurt her. I'm only after you."

"And the Chinese girl," Ezra added.

"Yes, but you won't need to worry about that. You'll be dead before I need to go get her."

"Oh, Ah am not worried, suh. Ah feel quite confident that you will be joinin' me in Hades."

"Mr. Standish, please … "

"Do not worry, dear lady. You will be home with your darlin' children shortly."

Gloria stood up, brushed off her skirt and said irritably, "Do not speak to me as though I am just any person you have come across that you would protect."

"Gloria … " Ezra tried to explain, but more, tried to keep her calm.

"All of us … Mary, Nettie, Casey, Mrs. Merton … Inez," she went on, a particular pause at speaking Inez's name forced a frown to Ezra's handsome face. "We care about you far too much to just sit back while the likes of this man," she said, tossing her head in the direction of Hopewell, "threaten to take you from us." _'You're not helping, Gloria'_, the gambler thought to himself, though his heart drank in the warmth of her words. Ezra kept his now somewhat misty eyes and his gun aimed at his target as the man offered a derisive snort.

"This heartwarming moment has gone on too long. Step away," Hopewell ordered the woman now too close to his quarry.

"No," she said, never taking her eyes from the man who threatened her dear friend.

"Gloria … "

"I said no." Gloria Potter had always been a highly observant woman. She saw the exact moment when Clayton Hopewell moved his finger at the trigger. It moved forward first. When he did this, she jumped at Ezra, placing her body over his. The force of her body flying at him pushed Ezra to the right, just enough for the bullet from Hopewell's gun to make its way into his left shoulder … after its trajectory had first gone through the fleshy part of Gloria's left arm.

Ezra's bullet was no graze to the crazed former politician, like the injury Gloria sustained, or just one more piece of lead making its way into the con man's body like a magnet, as Hopewell's bullet now took up residence in Ezra's shoulder. No, the bullet Ezra had fired from his gun had gone exactly where he had aimed: straight into Clayton Hopewell's cold heart. The look on the soon-to-be dead man's face said it all: this was just one more tactical error in a long line of mistakes dating back to the first time he'd visited this godforsaken town. He dropped to the floor with a hard thud as Ezra heard a barrage of boots echoing on the staircase, none of them concerned about the familiar loud creaks.

Ezra dropped the gun to his side – still holding it just in case – and held the woman tight who just risked her life for his own. "Gloria," he said, pressing his hand affectionately to her back. She whispered a 'Shush' as she hugged him back, hugged him so tight that she threatened Ezra's breathing. Though she hadn't done that literally, she had certainly taken his breath away figuratively with her actions over the course of the last minutes. This was how they were found, clasped in each other's arms as the other six peacekeepers barged through the door. Mary and Orin Travis followed closely behind.

"Oh, no," J.D. said.

"God damn it!" Buck yelled. Nathan and Chris rushed to the bed as Vin just stared, sorrow in his eyes but a Native prayer on his lips. Josiah's concerned eyes left the two on the bed and raised to the heavens in silent prayer as he kneeled to check Hopewell.

"Gloria," Ezra whispered.

"Thank god," Nathan said as he helped to untangle the now crying woman from the southerner.

"Blood," Chris said as he sat Gloria on the edge of the bed.

"Indeed. That lowlife tried to kill me."

"We know," Chris said.

"You know? Well isn't that just wonderful. Might Ah ask why Ah did not know?" Ezra demanded as he, figuratively, kept one eye on Gloria and the other directed firmly at the leader of their group.

"Later, Ezra. You both been shot," Nathan reminded them all as he took a wad of cloths that Mary handed him and pressed them against the gambler's wound.

"Did you think we were unaware of that, Mi … istah Jackson?" Ezra tried to pull away from the pain, but he had nowhere to go other than to lay harder back on the bed.

"The mouth is back," Chris said.

"Guess he is, too," Vin joined in.

"Nathan, please desist with this and check Missus Potter," Ezra pleaded as he purposefully ignored his friends' comments. He was starting to feel lightheaded, but he wanted to make sure Nathan knew his desires before he passed out. He looked around the room, realized all of his partners were here with him and asked, "Who is with Miss Zhang?"

"We moved her to the Merton's for now," J.D. responded eagerly, his relief at being able to speak to his friend bringing a similar collective reassured outlook to all who crowded the room.

"I'm takin' care of Gloria, Ezra," Josiah said. He had helped her to a chair to give the healer more room with the clearly more seriously injured patient.

"I'm fine, Mr. Standish. Nathan, I think the bullet just skimmed me, which means … "

"Which means all this blood is mostly his," Nathan finished for her. She smiled, but then hissed softly as Josiah started cleaning her wound.

Chris stood up from checking Hopewell for himself. "Buck, you and Vin take this piece of … take him to the undertaker."

"I can do it," J.D. offered. It was a good sign, a sign that though the bruising was still vivid, that none of the beating he had suffered had caused damage too deep.

"You sure, kid?" Buck asked.

"Come on, let's get this done," J.D. ordered. Buck and Chris shared a smile as the two dark-haired men prepared to remove the dead man from their presence. Before he left, Buck had something to say.

"I'm sorry, Gloria … "

"It's fine, Buck," the shop owner said, cutting him off.

"I found him all tied up," J.D. noted.

Ezra snorted. "Mistah Dunne, please, spare us the details."

"That ain't what he meant," Buck said with a knowing smile, one that faded quickly as he went on. "Hopewell got to me just as I was headed out. Threatened poor Grace. Had her tie me up, then he tied her up." Everyone looked at him with sympathy, knowing that he would have been there if he could have, and that he would be feeling guilty about it forever. "Well, kid?" J.D. stepped up, and Buck and J.D. removed Hopewell's body.

"Despic'ble 'scuse for a hum'n bein'," Ezra said as he watched the body being carried from the clinic. His eyes were roaming the room again as he tried to stay focused. "Ah am feelin' rath'r out o' sorts, Nath'n."

"That's 'cause you been shot," Nathan said as he continued to treat the heavily bleeding wound.

"Ah … " the gambler started again, but he passed out before he could get out that thought.

"Ezra," Nathan asked as he patted the southerner's cheek. "All right, everybody out, except Josiah and Mary. I need to get this bullet out and get this wound stitched. "Vin, can you walk Mrs. Potter home?" Vin nodded as he stepped over to help the woman up.

"That is not necessary," Gloria said as she stood. She wasn't particularly steady, and she was trembling slightly.

"Be my pleasure, ma'am. You been through somethin'. Don't know many who wouldn't be shook up by somethin' like this," Vin said.

"All right. Thank you, Vin. You, too, Josiah." She looked down to Ezra. "You'll keep me up to date on how he's doing?" she asked the healer.

"Sure will."

"Gloria, I'll be over when I'm done here," the newspaper woman said.

"Thank you, Mary."

* * *

"He's all right. He's sleeping now."

"Oh, Mary. What am I to do?"

"You should go see him, in the morning."

"I don't know what I can say to him. I was awful to him, before."

"You were upset, Inez. I think you need to go see him again, and just remember: he loved you once. He loves you now, he just needs to figure out that he can love you in a different way, that you are open to him loving you that way. But he can't do what he doesn't know. He wouldn't. Despite all of the bad that came with being raised by Maude Standish, he was raised a gentleman, and his gentlemanly ways would prevent him from pursuing someone who he wasn't completely sure was interested."

Inez thought it over, but the next morning came and went without the pretty woman making her way to Nathan's clinic.

* * *

"Ezra's missing."

* * *

"Have you seen Inez?" Ezra asked.

"Nathan let you outta the clinic?" Vin asked.

"Have you seen Inez?" Ezra persisted.

"Heard someone say she wasn't feeling good," Vin said. "Think she went to her room."

* * *

"Senorita Recillos?"

"Oh! Senor Standish."

"Might Ah ask why you are in mah room, though from what Ah see in your hands, there will be no need for you to elaborate."

Inez dropped the papers onto the bed, as though they were burning her fingers.

"She has been writing to you?"

"If by _she_ you mean Li Pong, then yes. And yes, Ah have been writing to her."

"I see."

"Do you?" The effort to get to his room, the meandering path he took in order to avoid detection, including a stop to look in on his cherished Chaucer, the moments he spent kneeling down to give little neglected Fred the attention that he'd missed lately – even a little hound dog, like much of the inhabitants in this town these days, had learned to play the gambler well - the acting job downstairs trying to convince Vin that he was better than he actually was, the surprise at finding Inez in his private quarters, all of this had combined with the tension between him and this woman; he was feeling lightheaded once more.

"Well … "

"Ah do not believe you do." Ezra stared at the woman, so obviously uncomfortable at being found, but still somehow obstinate in her bearing, as though she would not be leaving without an explanation. "Did you read any of them?"

"No."

Ezra rubbed his head. He'd slept so much of late that he wasn't sure what images he had in his head were dreams and what were memories. Were any of the images real? What he knew for sure was that this woman was not acting like herself, and if what he was remembering – or dreaming – was real, or possibly so, then he needed to act before he lost what he hadn't realized he'd already won.

"You would have found, if you had the chance before mah untimely arrival, that mah correspondence with Pong had commenced recently, upon her notification to me of her recent nuptials."

Inez blinked, and then tears came to her eyes. "I … "

"No, please. Ah want to … Ah just need to ask you somethin'. Have we … or, rather … did we … have … Ah have been … rememberin' … " Ezra didn't know what to say, but that was not going to stop him. "Have Ah forgotten an important … " Ezra knew that he was fading, that if he did not lie down, and very soon, that he would be down on the floor despite what he wished, despite his desires. He needed to say what needed to be said, and that needed to happen right now. "Mah deepest apologies, Inez. Ah do not know how Ah could have done this to you, to the woman that Ah have cared so deeply for, pined for. And finally won?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," the pretty Mexican confirmed modestly. Her big eyes looked into Ezra's and she asked, "Did you think of her when you were shot because her marriage meant that you had lost her for good?"

"My dear, lovely girl. No. Ah never lost her. Ah could not lose something that Ah never had." Ezra shook his head and looked down to the floor. He raised his head to see this beautiful woman looking at him with such love. "Ah do love you, Inez Recillos. Ah hope the pain that Ah have caused you … " he said as he started walking towards her. But he would not finish. On his second step he crumbled to the floor, but not before Inez got close enough to stop the hard landing. She was forced to the floor by the weight of his strong, compact body, but she was most careful to protect his head from further abuse, as well as his more recent shoulder wound. She placed his head against her bosom, and hugged him gently, longingly. She kissed his forehead and waited for Nathan Jackson to arrive. She knew there was no chance that Ezra had been released from the healer's care, not in this condition. It was only a matter of time before they were found.

"Ah am so sorry," Ezra said softly, and with great sadness.

"Shh, I know," Inez said as they rested in each other's arms.

* * *

"He's a fool is what he is," Nathan observed.

"No, he is not," Inez insisted. "He was … he needed to talk to me. He was … confused."

"Did ya set 'im straight?" Vin asked hopefully.

Inez smiled. She knew that she was not the only one who had been hoping the gambler would regain his memory. The pretty Mexican had wondered why it seemed only their relationship was what Ezra had forgotten. Sometimes, if she'd dwelled on it too long, she could even convince herself that it wasn't real, this selective forgetting of their romance. She could even see, she swore, each of Ezra's friends helping to keep his secret, that he had allowed their friendship to blossom to something much more … and then come to regret it. But the longer Ezra didn't remember, the more she could see that she was not the only one hurting. These six good and decent men shared her pain, sympathized with her feelings of loss, and seemed to show, in ways both large and small, their hope that the man's remembrance of this most important thing past would come back, that Ezra and Inez would one day be that once more: Ezra and Inez … together.

Her smile lit up the room at Vin's query. "I did not have to."

"He remembered on his own," Chris stated.

"Must mah laundry be waved about for all to see?" Ezra questioned. He opened his eyes, found Inez sitting beside him, his hand held in hers. He smiled, pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, a lovely, lingering touch. He took her hand from his lips and then pulled it to his chest. He closed his eyes, wanting this dream to continue. She squeezed his hand tightly, a genuine reminder that this was real, even if her scent, of lavender and vanilla and chili pepper didn't already tell him so.

"It's just us, Ezra," Chris said. The cardsharp opened his eyes again to see Nathan, Inez, Vin and Chris. He closed his eyes once more, taking silent measure of how he felt. That he could hardly keep his eyes open told him much. The rest? All things considered … he felt like shit, but that was a decided improvement. Along with the bullet hole from Hopewell's gun came an infection that, though Nathan had worked hard to nip it in its infancy, still wore Ezra down.

"So it is," he sighed, seemingly content with the conversation, at least in this company.

"How do you feel?" Inez asked as she leaned over and kissed his forehead, an action that Ezra was sure held, at minimum, two decidedly disparate purposes.

"Bettah," he answered. It wasn't a lie, even if he was only feeling nominally improved.

"You're lucky you didn't get dizzy and fall and open up those stitches," Nathan said.

"Ah b'lieve Ah did fall," Ezra said as he shared a loving glance with Inez, "but Ah was lucky in life," _'and love, apparently'_, he thought to himself, "to have this angel with me to cushion it." If Ezra had been paying any attention to the rest of the people in the room, he would have seen the warm, even goofy smiles of his friends. He would see it, eventually, but at the moment he only had eyes for one person in the room, and that person was definitely not one of the male persuasion.

"Vin," Chris said as he nodded to the door. The two men headed out.

"Inez, make sure he drinks some water, and then some tea. I'll be back in an hour to change his bandages." She didn't answer the healer. "Inez?"

"Yes. Water. Tea. Back in an hour." Her eyes never left Ezra's.

Nathan smiled and departed Ezra's room.

Inez leaned over, but this time her lips met his, and they kissed, an action so full of longing it surely paled in comparison to any kiss in history. The need, the love, the fear of what almost never was, except that Inez knew what it was, even if Ezra didn't. She pulled away and looked at the man she loved. Through the pain and exhaustion that he could not hide, she also saw the embarrassment, mortification even, that her gambler had forgotten about her … about them. She had suffered months watching him not remember; he had only had a couple of days of pain and exhaustion and worry since he'd started having these images coming to him, first in his dreams, and then when he was wide awake. She wondered, as she watched him, his eyes blinking tiredly … he might need the tea for pain but he certainly would not need it for its sedative effects, if maybe she had the better end of this deal. She knew that she could not allow him to suffer this worry when during this last day she had nearly forgotten about those terrible months that she had waited, hoped for his return to her. Ezra's reawakening to his feelings for her had wiped that slate clean.

She helped him to a drink, and then made sure he took a few sips of the tea. She sat on the bed, and then snuggled in next to him.

"I love you," she said.

"And I you," Ezra replied, kissing her as passionately as he could. "Ah look forward to showin' you how much." Inez knew, in that moment, that he hadn't remembered everything. She tingled all over thinking what that moment would be like. Again. Ezra hardly finished the suggestive thought before he yawned, bigger and louder than he could ever remember doing before. They broke up with laughter.

"I guess we will have to wait for that," Inez said, leaning over for another kiss. They were both panting by the time they separated this time.

"Inez, Ah want to apologize … " He could not continue as her fingers covered his lips, a 'Shh,' sliding easily from hers.

"No. You do not apologize for something you had no control over. I should apologize. I was terrible that day. I said awful things." This time, Ezra put his hand to her lips.

"Maybe we should just say that mistakes were made."

"Si. And that those mistakes were in the past." Ezra never thought that he would have this woman look at him the way she did.

"Indeed," he agreed.

"And they are forgotten."

"And forgiven."

"Mi amor," she sighed as she rested her cheek to his.

"Por favor. Please forgive me," Ezra pleaded, despite their assurances to one another.

"Of course."

"Te adoro, Inez."

"Te adoro, Ezra."

It was the second time in just a few days where a woman had taken his breath away. This time, it wasn't just figuratively.

The End


End file.
